WHEN THE THUNDER HAD TO STOP
The press: Paul Johnson
examines the decline of the leading article
IS THE leading article doomed? I am beginning to think so. Some of the quality nationals had several on last week's sum- mit, and even the humblest tabloid piped Up. But struggling through these effusions, I found myself wondering: what percen- tage of readers even attempts to peruse an editorial these days, let alone takes any notice of its conclusions? Are they not now written largely as matter of form, a part of media ceremonial with no more real sig- nificance than the state opening of Parlia- ment? After all, the BBC, which runs no editorials, has much more influence than a newspaper simply by slanting its general output by such propaganda exercises as Tumbledown: that is the way opinions are formed nowadays.
Not so long ago leading articles were regarded by editors of the qualities as the most important part of the paper. They devoted more time to their content than to anything else. C. P. Scott and Geoffrey Dawson would agonise for hours over a single phrase, believing (with some justice) that it would be carefully pondered in the chancelleries of Europe. Even domestic leaders might have a great impact. I well remember the delight and rage provoked by Sir William Haley's indignant Times leader on the Profumo crisis, 'It is a moral issue'. Leader writers (almost invariably men, though Flora Shaw wrote Times leaders before the turn of the century) formed a special elite, not necessarily better paid than others on the paper, but of higher social and intellectual status. They were often fellows of All Souls or suchlike. On the Manchester Guardian they consti- tuted 'The Corridor'. At the Times they were a quasi-ecclesiastical college, 'The Monks of Printing House Square', as Northcliffe called them. There used to be, Indeed, a hieratic aspect to writing leaders. When I wrote my first leading article, I felt like a young priest who had just celebrated his inaugural Mass, having accomplished an act of transubstantiation, by turning mere cerebration into Editorial Policy. Does any leader writer have that feeling nowadays? I doubt it. It is just a chore, filling a space. Professional politicians, a few diplomats, civil servants and academics — and of course journalists — take leading articles seriously; hardly anyone else. Characteristically, the only place where they can still be relied on to cause a stir is that old-fashioned province, Ulster, where words remain lethal. It is a long time since any leader had a discernible impact on British politics. The very name is a mis- nomer. Editorials no longer lead even the leader page. On the Daily Telegraph and the Independent, readers rightly assume the most important article is the signed feature under the cartoon. On the Times, the eye falls naturally not on the first leader but on Bernard Levin, or whoever it is, dominating the facing page, the status of the article identified by a large line draw- ing. The Sunday Times, the Observer and the Financial Times are also laid out to focus attention not on the leaders in the margins but on a prominent feature or columnist. Only the Guardian still gives primacy to the leaders in its lay-out, and to no great effect since it is still the letters and the main feature which attract notice.
The downgrading of the leader reflects a change in the type of mind now controlling quality papers. Traditionally the editor of a serious newspaper possessed an interlock- ing set of views covering the whole of the public scene, national and international; he had a Weltanschauung, a world outlook which implied a system of value-principles. Such editors were common until quite recently. You might not agree with the opinions of David Astor, Sir William Haley, Alastair Hetherington or Charles Douglas-Home, but they were clear and internally consistent; they added up. That kind of editor is now an endangered species on the quality dailies. If you want strong-minded consistency you have to turn to a tabloid editor like David English of the Daily Mail. I find it hard to discern what the policy of the Guardian is; its editor, Peter Preston, appears to have no general political philosophy and performs a balancing-act among the paper's editorial factions. The Daily Telegraph, the most coherent and integrated of the qualities when Colin Welch shaped its policies, is now an ideological shambles. Its editor, Max Hastings, has quite sharp views on one or two subjects, but no systematic ideas of how Britain or the world should be run. Andrew Neil of the Sunday Times has vast and inexplicable gaps in his generally Tory approach, which imply the same absence of any properly thought-out phi- losophy. The Times's editor, Charles Wil- son, does not believe in anything much, so far as I can judge, and the paper's policy seems to depend greatly on the transient and embarrassed phantoms (to use Dis- raeli's phrase) who join and leave its senior staff. The Observer's editor, Donald Trel- ford, is another Don't Know and the paper's policies depend largely on his political-minded deputy, Anthony Ho- ward. As for the Independent, it has succeeded so far despite, or perhaps be- cause of, an absence of clear editorial policies, except on media issues. In this respect Andreas Whittam-Smith is an archetypal modern quality editor. The message is: we may not know what to do about the other three estates, but we always back the Fourth. Harold Evans can be said to have invented or imported this new kind of editing, and it is now ubi- quitous. Neil, Preston, Evans, Trelford, Hastings and Whittam-Smith lack a world view but they all believe in media trium- phalism.
Traditionalists like myself may deplore this decline of editorial coherence. But I have to admit there is no evidence that readers care tuppence. The spread of political agnosticism — for that is what it amounts to — may be to the taste of the middle class. So it would not surprise me if the unsigned leader gradually disappeared, except for special occasions. Already, most of them are written chiefly because leader writers exist, and are paid, to write them. There is a lot to be said for Hugh Cudlipp's technique of reserving the editorial big guns for a crisis or times when you have something important to say. Most readers now take little notice of routine anony- mous contributions. It is significant that the one editor of a quality national today who does have a clear political and social philosophy, Peregrine Worsthorne of the Sunday Telegraph, has chosen to replace the leader with his signed opinions. The change has been a distinct improvement and points the way to the future. The Queen no longer uses the royal we, except in formal documents; the editorial we is likewise obsolescent. But editors should not regard its decline with indifference: as with royalty, it suggests power is slipping elsewhere.
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